This one kind of goes without saying! All lives, and all labyrinths that are living ones, and not created in stone or concrete or something like that, produce both living things you want, which we call grass, or flowers, or fruit, or nice names like that, and living things you don't want, which we call weeds. At least, when we're being polite.
In my case, my labyrinth is growing 3 kinds of grapes, kiwis, blueberries, blackberries, 4 kinds and colors of raspberries, bush cherries, apricots, peaches, pears, apples, and hazelnuts. I think that's all. . . Oh, and the evergreen in the middle. And grass. And roses and baby's breath.
It's also growing, much more quickly I might add, poison ivy, bugleweed, creeping charlie, various quack grasses, and a bunch of stuff I can't name, but you know what I call it all. Or you can guess.
By the way, the statement that it produces (present tense) fruit, is actually more a statement of faith than of fact. I have gotten two handfuls of raspberries, one bunch of grapes, which were not seedless as advertised, and four cherries. I mean, four cherries grew. The bugs, or birds, or someone, got them. Not me. But everything is young yet. I am hoping for a reasonable amount of small fruits this year, and possibly some apricots next year, and so on.
My life, while we're on the subject, produces smiles and kindness and some uplifting writing and handspun yarn and handmade things and hugs and compassion. And loyalty and evergreen faith.
It still seems the frowns and tears and crossness and impatience and quickness to judge and negative thoughts grow faster. But I'm young yet. This year I hope for more smiles and a reasonable amount of uplifting writing and hugs, and next year some more patience. . . and so on.
We'll grow, my labyrinth and I.
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